‘But it’s been two weeks, Robert. Surely someone knows where she is,’ William said.
Robert’s haggard face formed into a painful half-smile. ‘I’m sure they do. But no one will tell me.’
Looking up, he could see William’s face was etched with concern. He couldn’t blame him. If he looked as bad as he felt, he must be a dreadful sight.
He hadn’t slept properly for days and, when he did, he dreamed the nightmare of arriving at Cooper’s house and finding Ellen gone. For a few seconds Robert watched as the red and orange flames of his fire formed into pictures of Ellen. He spun around and gave a hard laugh.
‘I stupidly thought that I would find her. She couldn’t have gone far,’ Robert said, thinking of the hours spent walking through the streets and markets of East London looking for her. He snatched up a newspaper and flourished it in the air. ‘After this rag had thoroughly dragged Ellen through the mire I couldn’t even get a “good morning” from most of her neighbours,’ he said, screwing the newspaper up and hurling it into the fire. ‘I should have married her before the trial.’
‘You’ll find her, Robert,’ William said.
Robert dragged his eyes from the jumping flames in the grate. ‘I have to, but Ellen has brothers in Ireland and America and cousins in Liverpool, Manchester, Bristol and Ireland. And there have been ships leaving the docks for each destination over the past two weeks.’
Only the crackle from the fire sounded in the quiet study for a few moments, then William spoke again.
‘What will you do?’ he asked.
‘Continue to search for her until I find her,’ Robert replied, remembering how only two nights ago he had come as near to ending his life as he had ever wanted to by throwing himself into the fast-moving Thames. ‘I have also booked a seat at the Black Swan on the Edinburgh coach next week.’
‘A trip home is just what you need.’ William gave a forced laugh. ‘Time in the bosom of your family will help you, I am sure.’
Making a monumental effort at good cheer, Robert stood up. ‘Another brandy?’
‘Thank you, no. I’m my way to supper at the Saracen’s Head with Benthan,’ William said, also standing. ‘Why don’t you join us?’
Robert shook his head.
William hesitated for a few moments then retrieved his hat from the hatstand. ‘Give your mother my regards, won’t you.’
Robert watched the door close, then turned back to the window. He stared unseeing over the scrubland at the back of the hospital.
The emptiness of his life without Ellen swept over him. He needed her like he needed breath. Without her love surrounding him, he was an empty shell, a husk of a man. But he would find her. Ireland? Liverpool? America? Wherever she was, even if it took him a lifetime, he would find her - and make her his wife.
Twenty-Three
The clock on the mantelshelf struck the melodious quarter of the hour as Robert joined his parents in the drawing room. It was as if he had last entered the room only the day before. Nothing whatsoever had changed. The old dark-oak dresser, the tables and the wheelback chairs that had been crafted at least two generations ago still dominated the room. Even the light from the sash windows still struggled to illuminate the sombrely furnished interior where the same paintings hung on the walls. Silhouette sketches of deceased relatives from both sides of the family faced each other in their oval ebony frames. An oil painting of a Highland house with shaggy cattle in the foreground was of his mother’s ancestral home in Huntly; and on its usual wall, opposite the fireplace, standing alone in his bright red captain’s uniform, was Captain Robert Fraser, his long dead uncle whom he resembled so strongly.
The leather-bound Munroe family Bible lay open on its table. It had been there for as long as Robert could remember. His father would solemnly turn a gold-leafed page each evening and read the text to the children before they were put to bed by their nursemaid. He wondered idly if his father still turned the pages each night, or if the Bible had remained open at the same page since the last of them left the nursery.
He had arrived at Trinity Church manse yesterday and been welcomed into the bosom of his family, as William put it. In fact his welcome was warmer than he’d expected, mainly because his sisters Hermione and Margot were there. After greeting him formally under the watchful eye of their mother, they drew him aside into the old nursery and quizzed him at length about what the fashionable hostesses in London were wearing. He gathered that since neither of his sisters mentioned the court case, his mother had been her usual vigilant self and kept the scandal outside the manse.
His mother and father were not quite as delighted at his return. Since his arrival, the Reverend George Munroe had been shut away almost continuously in his study, writing his treatise on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, and his mother had been involved with the local Temperance Trust committee all morning. Even in the brief conversation over breakfast there had been no mention of his role in Danny Donovan’s trial or of his relationship to Ellen. That was why he was going to grasp the opportunity of his parents’ afternoon tea ritual to talk to them. Thankfully his sisters were engaged with their music tutor and would not interrupt what was likely to be a difficult conversation.
Unusually, his mother and father sat next to each other on the button-backed sofa. Robert took his place on the chair opposite and crossed one leg casually over the other. As they waited for Mrs Manners to bring in the tray, Robert studied them.
His mother was much the same as when he’d seen her in the summer, but her usual calm exterior was disturbed now and then by a sudden nervous twitch of her fingers as they lay across her charcoal grey skirt.
His father, in contrast, looked even more sombre than when Robert had last seen him. Although he had always been a solemn individual, Robert couldn’t remember the lines tracking down his cheeks ever being so deep or the bones of his face so prominent. He was dressed in his black clerical garb, the white flaps of his collar making a stark contrast with his sinewy neck.
Mrs Manners came in and left the tea tray beside his mother. As she started to pour the tea, Robert decided to speak.
‘I understand Danny Donovan’s trial was reported at some length in The Scotsman.’
His father fixed him with a granite stare.
‘It was,’ he said, in a voice that sounded like a tolling bell. He patted his wife’s hand in a rare show of affection. ‘And it made terrible reading for your family and your Kirk.’
This interview had all the signs of being even bleaker that Robert had imagined.
‘You realise that there was a great deal of exaggeration in the reporting of the trial.’
‘Did it exaggerate your liaison with an actress?’ his father asked, sounding the word ‘actress’ as one would say dog excrement.
‘Mrs O’Casey is not an actress. She is a singer,’ Robert answered, taking the cup of tea his mother handed him.
His father’s face formed itself into a sneer. ‘I understand that both terms are used in London and elsewhere in the realm as an alternative word for a woman of loose morals.’
‘If you knew Mrs O’Casey, you would know that is not the case,’ he replied in an even tone.
His father blinked rapidly. ‘I ... I say it is the case.’ He put his cup in the saucer and it started to jiggle in his hand. ‘I am astonished that you see fit to dispute this matter. Have you forgotten the fifth commandment?’
‘Mrs O’Casey is not as you describe her,’ Robert replied simply, refusing to debate further.
A flush splashed up his father’s neck, then he turned his head and stared blankly at the wall.
Robert continued. ‘Mrs O’Casey is a brave woman and a respectable widow, and I have great affection for her,’ he said in a firm tone.
‘So all of Edinburgh read,’ his father replied, not turning his head.
‘Now, husband,’ his mother said. ‘If Robert tells us that this Mrs... Casey is a respectable widow, then I for one believe my own son over
some sensationalist newspaper report.’
His father left his contemplation of the dull wallpaper and looked at his wife. ‘I’d hardly call The Scotsman sensationalist.’
‘Mr Munroe!’ his mother said in a rare show of annoyance. The stain on his father’s neck deepened as he slammed his cup down on the table beside him.
‘Very well.’ He fixed Robert with a razor-sharp stare. ‘But, respectable or not, your liaison with this woman was of an intimate nature and now all of London and Edinburgh and beyond knows it.’
He resumed his study of the wall.
‘I am not ashamed of my association with Ellen O’Casey,’ Robert said calmly to his father’s averted face.
‘You should be,’ his father retorted, sending his son a contemptuous look. ‘What kind of example do you set the lesser orders, cavorting with a woman who earns her living displaying herself for all who have a penny or two to see?’
Robert put down his cup down carefully on the tea tray, placed his hands on his crossed knee and held his father’s gaze. They all sat in silence for several long moments.
Then his mother spoke. ‘It does not matter. Men are forever men. Not all of them have your iron will to fight temptation,’ she said, looking to both of them to accept her olive branch.
For one fleeting moment Robert tried to imagine any situation that might tempt a man such as his father. He couldn’t.
‘It will all be forgotten when Robert marries,’ continued Mrs Munroe.
‘Marry?’
‘When you marry Caroline, of course,’ she beamed at him. ‘That’s why you’ve come back, isn’t it? To marry Caroline?’
‘Caroline?’ Robert said, furrows appearing across his brow.
An indulgent smile crossed his mother’s face. ‘I have it from her own lips that she is willing to forgive and forget all about your association with Mrs O’Casey. I explained to her that men can be led astray, and a man needs a good wife who will settle his needs.’ She patted his father’s hand.
His father nodded ponderously. ‘I am sure you’re right, my dear. Miss Sinclair, who I have always found a little capricious, shows a great deal of charity in her willingness to forgive Robert.’
He stood up and rested with his elbow on the granite fireplace. Looking around the room for a second, he took hold of his jacket lapels and stretched his chin forward.
‘This young women has given us a Christian example which we would be wise to follow,’ he said, addressing his wife and son as if they were a congregation.
‘I have no intention of marrying Caroline Sinclair, or anyone else for that matter. I don’t know where Mrs O’Casey is’ - a heavy lump settled on Robert’s chest - ‘or if I will ever see her again, but I’ll tell you this. While there is breath left in my body I will never, never stop searching for her. And when I find her, be in no doubt that I intend to marry her,’ he told them firmly, before his father could launch into an impromptu sermon.
His mother’s face drained of colour and his father fixed him with a bellicose stare.
‘O’Casey is an Irish name, is it not?’
‘It is,’ Robert replied.
‘Then would Mrs O’Casey be a papist by any chance?’ asked the Reverend Munroe, spiritual leader of the largest Presbyterian church in Edinburgh.
‘She has been raised in the Roman Church,’ Robert agreed.
There was an icy silence.
‘If you persist in this madness of marrying a follower of the Antichrist, then you are no longer my son. Do you hear? I’ll disown you. You will be no part of this family. You have to choose between your family or your paramour. You can’t have both,’ his father said.
Robert sat very still for a moment. The clock, as if aware of the heavy silence, struck the half-hour. A shaft of light that had pierced through the heavy lace hangings at the window fell across the room, showing particles of dust dancing in its light.
An image of Ellen sitting in his rooms reading a book, her hair loose around her shoulders, came into Robert’s mind. She looked up and smiled at him. His father’s voice cut through his thoughts.
‘You find this amusing, do you?’
Robert realised that he must have been smiling at Ellen in his head.
‘See if you find it amusing when I cut you out of my will.’
There was another long, drawn-out silence.
‘I do understand that your position in the Church makes my decision particularly difficult for you, Father,’ Robert said, meeting his father’s unswerving gaze.
Mr Munroe strode abruptly to the door. Robert stood up.
‘You may stay overnight, but be gone by midday tomorrow,’ the Reverend said, pausing at the door. ‘Unless, of course, you come to your senses and repent in the meantime.’
Robert’s mother let out a little cry as the door slammed behind her husband. She turned and faced Robert. Her skirt swished on the wooden floor she came towards him.
‘For goodness’ sake, Rob, if you find her why can’t you just set her up in a house somewhere and stop all this marriage nonsense? Women in her situation always ask for marriage but I am sure she will settle for a properly drawn-up settlement.’
Robert gave a dry laugh. ‘I am sure she would.’
His mother’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Well, then...’
‘But I will not.’ Robert smiled sadly at her. ‘The truth is I have asked her, pleaded with her and begged her to marry me on many occasions and she has always said no. Then after she was all but killed by Danny Donovan, she relented. If I’d been half the man I should have been, she would be my wife by now. But I’ll tell you this, Mother. Nothing will stop me marrying Ellen O’Casey.’ He gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’ll be gone in an hour.’
He turned and strode across the faded Indian carpet, his mind already on catching the first coach back to London.
‘Robert.’ He turned. ‘Don’t leave. I’ll plead with him, and if you just tell him you’ll consider his words, I’m sure he’ll relent.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He crossed the space between them and took hold of her shoulders. As he kissed her on both cheeks, a sudden rush of affection for his mother swept over him. Looking down at her, he thought she seemed suddenly old. She might not lavish affection on him, and perhaps there was still lingering disappointment that he hadn’t followed her brother into the army, but she did love him in her own way.
Ignoring the emotional restraint that his mother always insisted on, he drew her to him and hugged her. He kissed her springy grey hair and hugged her again. He felt her resistance, then she put her arms around him.
He held her away from him and mother and son stared at each other just for a second.
‘I’ll write to you at the Association’s offices, Mother,’ he said, giving her a brief smile.
Then he turned and strode from the room.
Twenty-Four
Holding her school books tight to her chest Josie made her way up the Bowery on her way home. Alongside her, chatting and giggling, were Katie O’Malley and Mary Reardon, her two new friends from the Swartz Elementary school.
Her mother had tried to find her a school north of where they lived in the Vauxhall Garden area of the expanding town, but found the day fees were too expensive, so she had to settle for a school in Chambers Street run by a Russian professor. Josie had been somewhat apprehensive about attending a new school, wondering if she would be able to keep up with the lessons. To her surprise, she found she was one of the school’s best pupils, so much so that she had already moved up a class.
She didn’t really miss Wapping much, mainly because she had gained a whole new family, but she did wonder from time to time how Doctor Munroe was faring and where Patrick Nolan was.
She did miss Patrick. Twice in the past week the class teacher had caught her gazing out of the window, daydreaming that Patrick, having been promoted to Captain Nolan, would arrive at Uncle Pat’s and whisk her away to be his wife. She had left a letter with his mot
her before she and Ellen sailed, telling him Uncle Pat’s address in New York. A little lump caught in her throat as she thought about him. Maybe he’d forgotten her.
From the time in the middle of an Atlantic gale when she found out her mother was carrying Doctor Munroe’s child, Josie had kicked herself daily that she hadn’t gone and told him where her mother had been hiding. She had tried to talk to her mother about Doctor Munroe since they arrived but it only started her mother weeping. Aunt Mary said that wasn’t good for the baby so she stopped mentioning his name, but that didn’t mean she stopped thinking about him or Patrick.
‘Look, there’s Brian Clancy,’ Mary said, turning to Josie and breaking out in a froth of giggles. ‘And he’s with Feggy Smith and Ernie Potter the b’hoys.’
Josie looked towards the three young men lounging outside a general store smoking. They looked a disparate group. Stubby Brian with his freckles and red hair, Feggy thin and dark, and Ernie blond and bony. Although they were as different as three boys could be, they all wore black trousers and frock coats with bright, almost garish waistcoats beneath, and hobnail boots. Each had their long hair oiled, and tied at the back. Ernie and Feggy each sported a tall silk hat, while Brian had on an oversized cap.
Katie lowered her head toward Josie and Mary. ‘Don’t they look fine?’ she said, casting the three lads a sideways glance. ‘Isn’t Brian Clancy just a darling of a man?’
Singularly unimpressed, Josie cast her eyes over them, thinking that not one of them could hold a candle to Patrick.
Brian and his gang, their stance casual but their eyes narrowed, watched Josie and her friends pass. Much to Josie’s annoyance, Mary arched her neck and smiled at the three young men, who then peeled themselves from the wall supporting them and sauntered over to the three girls.
‘Good day to you all,’ Brian said, as the youths fell into step around the girls.
Josie felt a trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades. Her ma wouldn’t like her dawdling on her way home, especially not in the Five Points area of the town and especially not with Brian and his gang. They had a reputation for wildness that they were forever trying to add to, and were already well known to the ward constables for all the wrong reasons.
No Cure for Love Page 29
